Overdrive
by Novoux
Summary: Sometimes Izaya thinks too much for his own good. Mainly when it concerns Shizu-chan. Shizaya


Shizuo has been distant lately.

It's in the way his hands touch Izaya's, only to pull back and make a sound similar to a sigh that has Izaya turning to look as his boy—Shizu-chan heads out for work. And maybe he's just thinking about this all wrong, since Shizu-chan still has this dumb look on his face after a good morning kiss and tells Izaya to stop thinking, right before he falls back down to the pillows. As well as _inconveniently_ on top of Izaya, nonetheless. They do the same thing, waking up to kisses as Izaya finds with every morning with the same warm lips telling him not to over think what Shizuo means when he says he loves him.

That's not every morning—it hasn't been recent, not as of some weeks ago where Izaya had finally snapped— _stop saying it—_ and he hasn't heard a word since. Sometimes he looks like he'll say it, when he dives under the covers and Izaya barely has the time to kick him because he _knows_ what Shizuo does when he's in the mood to be annoying. Which happens to be grabbing him by the ankles, whether or not Izaya pulls off the bedsheets to get a better look at Shizuo being an idiot. Only then does the beast kiss him, on the pale skin of his _feet,_ which he does far too often for Izaya's preference. Along with kissing him with disgusting morning breath, but that's another thing entirely.

It's more annoying when Shizuo's lips brush over every single one of his toes, down the bones of his feet and one soft press against his right ankle. The beast thinks it's funny, that stupid grin on his face with heavy eyes and a cheeky call of what a good morning it is. Izaya gets the chance to kick him, only when Shizuo slips up and thinks Izaya won't kick him in the throat for being a moron.

 _His_ idiotic moron, Shizuo adds before he pulls his clothes off for a morning shower, expecting Izaya to follow as he always does and never notices the way Izaya watches him every time. Not the roll of his abdominal muscles, rippling under his skin as his biceps expand and contract, a sinuous line of motion from what would be expected of a human. A perfect being, so flawed and tragic that Izaya finds them beautiful.

Except Shizu-chan has never been human. Neither has he, but he's not so low as to compare himself to a monster.

(In the shower the skin under his fingers he pretends it isn't human; something warm to the touch and it feels just like human skin, but he doesn't share monsters. No, he likes his humans and monsters separate and not just by the salty kisses and the rough feel of Shizuo's morning whiskers.)

If only today was the same.

Today is different, though. Three days ago Shizuo heads to work and he doesn't touch Izaya as he heads out to work, doesn't kiss his feet in the morning and not a word as he leaves. Izaya watches him go, hands empty and a mouthful of a question but he doesn't dare, refusing to let something so simple make him waste air on redundancy. But it lingers in his mind, the same way he plays with his fingers and twists his rings before reminding himself he has work to do. Definitely not focusing on _his_ (it tastes strange on his tongue, still not used to the word)Shizu-chan and his ridiculous antics.

He could almost ask himself why he's not in his office, instead taking a stroll out in Ikebukuro because (he can't think) he could use some fresh air. Maybe pester Shizu-chan while he works, all in good fun and malicious intent. Sitting in an office chair, facing the window and unable to observe his humans leaves a sort of unease that settles further than just between his shoulders. More like the unshakeable feeling that has been festering in the rot of of some mental wall, maybe just a shred of insanity in the form of feeling that maybe, maybe he—

No, that's stupid.

A deep breath of Ikebukuro's air, tinged with pollution, feels fresh and crisp in his lungs with the tinge of determination swathed in the bite of metal. Autumn comes early this year, a chill in the warmth of summer coming to an end with the leaves still holding onto trees to protest the change. And if he's actually considering spending time thinking about seasons, then it's obvious he's been cooped up in his office for too long. Issues with Shizu-chan should have nothing to do with it—after all, he doesn't much care what the monster does, so long as it doesn't bother him.

And yet Shizu-chan has been annoying him without doing _anything._

Izaya shakes his head, making his way down city streets with his hands dangling loosely at his sides. Attempting to focus only makes his head spin, thoughts cloudy with _Shizu-chan_ makes it too hard to think straight. Enough to make him swerve and lose his balance with a misplaced step, a blaring wake up call that he's far too concerned with someone and it should be sickening how much of an effect Shizuo has on him when he's not meant to be thinking of anyone but himself.

It's oddly reminding him that he hasn't ever reciprocated the same kisses he gets, wanted or not, whenever they're together. Pushing aside the frustrating thoughts of Shizuo on his mind, the other part to the issue feels like this, recalling and recounting that he hasn't been one to initiate _any_ kind of affection. Of course Shizu-chan knows he's not the one for being affectionate, hardly so and it's a stretch from before they started dating as for what he does now.

So why linger on it now?

After another wobbly fight to catch himself when he loses grounding under his shoe, Izaya finds it best to sort himself out _thoroughly_ before catching himself slipping up again. Or not, if he doesn't manage to keep himself controlled long enough to figure out why his brain decides to interrupt him now of all times. One quiet morning is no cause for acting like this, specifically recalling memories and then making them unpleasant with how often they repeat in his head.

But it's not normal, no. Not weeks of the same tip-toeing over uncertainty because Shizu-chan is far too quiet for his normal affectionate self, far from any shared touches or unnecessary kisses that Izaya refuses to admit he misses. It's a condition that finds him in the way it keeps him up the nights Shizuo starts drifting apart and too far away to be on the same ocean of bedsheets between them.

His head starts screaming, _stop thinking stop trying to reason that there's more to what isn't there—_ lost in thought, he forgets himself and he's got the track record so far running miles long with how spaced out his head is, filled with thoughts that aren't his own. Even worse, it's difficult to keep himself focused on a normal day's proceedings, _focus,_ stop thinking and analyzing why Shizuo has changed all of a sudden and _stop_ trying to draw the connections so easily pulling their strings to tie themselves together (it's his fault, it's his fault, that's the only way it works) when there is _work_ to do, not playing emotionally battered for a day. That's not his occupation, nor his concern as he takes another stop against a storefront, a hand to his head and pinching the bridge of his nose to _calm down_ in the middle of a crowded street.

Minutes pass, his head clearing with the sky free of clouds and the sun shines again, prompting the sudden return into society, weaving himself in with the expertise he's practiced for much longer. Yes, this is what he knows—this is all he needs to know intimately, more so than how to kiss a stupid monster and how to ask him to please hold him when he wants the touch more than he thinks he does. Stupid things to keep him moving, one foot in front of the other, polluted air choking his lungs another couple years of life that don't apply to a living god. So long as he's untouchable like this (what was he even concerned about in the first place, how stupid) he can walk with his head high and his feet keeping him moving, owning the city that rests in the palm of his hand.

Invincible. _Untouchable._

And then he hears the shatter of every wall he thinks he's replaced by now. "I-za-ya- _kun_!" The swallow in his throat clenches itself painfully tight, the walls of his esophagus constricting like the air in his lungs when he takes the moment of blankness to recognize and recalculate how to behave himself. As if he's forgotten—not like that, not important.

Besides, it's not like Shizu-chan to be worth more than a moment's attention and free handouts when Izaya's feeling particularly bored. That's all this is—that's all it's supposed to be.

Simple and clean. _Easy,_ because Izaya likes it when he can predict monsters that don't sit still. It's never happened, but blind hope gives him an inkling that isn't a shadow of doubt.

"Get the fuck out of Ikebukuro, shitty flea!" A vending machine decides to greet him first, beginning the turn of tail and heels as Izaya begins to move, wired to automatic processes in the first moments his brain shuts itself down to _move_ or he'll be crushed. (By accident, but that doesn't matter much when he's already dead.) Shizuo roars behind him, his boss Tom perplexed but deciding that today's workday may as well end while Shizuo moves to give chase in a familiar pattern of a game.

Something for Izaya to grab onto with both hands and keep moving, finding it better than over-thinking again and again that there's something wrong with the way his logic works, questioning his reasoning and unable to find a different answer. Or one that works because none of them make sense, requiring the sort of attention to detail he doesn't have because Shizu-chan decides somehow that he's better at these sorts of things. Not like Izaya minds, hurling himself down another street as soon as a stop sign whizzes past his throat and impales itself into a brick wall.

His pounding feet don't echo as far as his head— _what if it's not_ real—as he forces himself to keep moving, shaking his head sounding as pointless as trying to fight with a voice that exists in his head. And the worst part is that he can deny it so many times before sticky bits and pieces won't leave him be, constant reminders (he's failed, he's done it all wrong again) by thoughts that aren't supposed to exist. Like a lot of things, for example himself when he narrowly misses a convenience store trash can that tries to pin him to the ground. Today's not the day to be messy and here he is, stumbling over his feet like the first time he learned how to free run.

"Izaya!" He's not here, his mind far off from the moment he steps out of his apartment and makes his way through a day pretending to be normal. Except it shrugs itself off in the face of danger and Shizu-chan, combining into an even worse expectation that fuels the agony of thoughts that eat him alive (where are they coming from, why is he thinking about these things) at the worst of times. Shizu-chan's the fault for it anyway, dismissing any thinking for as long as he can, venturing up a set of fire escape staircases in a case of mixing up the normal routine.

And maybe he's desperate enough to cause a stir that will make him stop _thinking_ for once and just do as he's meant to. For a man who prizes his ability to be in his head it should be odd to consider it, though too fed up to care and too tired to remember how not to pay attention to other things in the middle of being chased by a dangerous monster. Nothing is supposed to be related to having sex—or not, seeing as they never have—(is it required or is it just some agreed upon thing)—and how to be or not be in a relationship that has a rocky start at first.

(Why is everything so _confusing!?_ )

So then if he goes by that—scaling the metal stairs, hearing them tear beneath him as Shizuo gains speed to rip his skull—apart from the rest, going by what he has observed if anything at all, then—his lungs heave for air as he springs ahead, moving against a wobbling staircase that won't quit shaking. His mind's a mess, just like how he moves and the beauty in watching the chaotic destruction from a beast doesn't come the same way it does in person. In person is so much easier with the unpredictable when the variables are contained and the one influence, the one factor that doesn't add in. Then everything makes sense, the world turns, the days go by with the same results upon testing.

So what is it? What is this mysterious variable he's conveniently forgetting? And it's far too entrenched in his mind, questioning everything it can while ripping through all that he does know long enough to forget to hear a sudden warning call in the air. Suspiciously, it sounds like his name, too, and from a monster nonetheless, but promptly ignored. Shizu-chan doesn't understand how delicate thought processes can be when burning out the brain that computes the problems and turns them into logical predicaments.

" _Izaya!"_ The groan of metal separating doesn't move him in the slightest until his feet meet air. By then, Izaya snaps out of his head long enough and the stinging intensity of a migraine to catch himself on the trembling rails of a fire escape— _falling_ to the ground.

The whole infrastructure gives out from the supports being knocked out of the walls, heavy weight of itself ultimately its downfall (should he laugh or kick himself now) as it collapses upon its legs, crashing in sudden drops from where the skeleton of metal used to hang. Izaya's fingers dig tightly into the falling railing, thinking and thinking and thinking of a way to offset the reaction sure to happen and squish him under the weight, only to find that there's no way to escape as soon as he's falling toward the ground.

"Izaya!" He hears a fraction of his name at the time, whipping his head toward the source of the sound—he never sees the light of blond hair or the wide-eyed look of a monster in panic. Perhaps it's best that he never does, slamming into the ground and quickly buried under the weight of the rest of the fire escape. The scaffolding folds and falls from its hinges, burying Izaya in the rubble of the man-made earthquake.

And then the world turns inside-out, fading fast into black and the buzz of silence.

The world exists in muted tones of black, false shades of darkness and shadows bending to light, moving like murmured voices speaking in frenzies where the voices are right but the words are all wrong. Something more like the lip-synced foreign version of a movie, translating it to where nothing makes sense despite the picture that's supposed to be there, hanging in shadows and stiff swells of air in the air.

If Izaya listens closely, he thinks he can picture the sound of a heartbeat, echoing with electric pulses of grabbing the cold clammy feeling of his hands with his other hand that doesn't feel like his. Whether or not he's awake, still in darkness and damp shades of the world itself he doesn't recognize, it doesn't make much sense. But his head is finally quiet and when there is peace it means he can think of something else besides whatever attached itself to his brain. Nothing's quite stable, he finds, thinking hard of why he can't remember what he was doing to end up here, drawing blanks and there's nothing…

"...close, he...lost?—I..." the voice comes into his mind with a gentle pull away from the shadows behind his eyes, finding himself there as soon as he listens a little more intently. But nothing that reaches his ears seems to compute, akin to forgetting a language after learning it and _knowing_ what the right words are but not what they mean. Confusion has never been Izaya's forte, something considered to be the level of amateurs on the job, out in Ikebukuro—wait, wait, it has to mean something now.

His hand holds with another thing that isn't his own. But from behind his eyes, daring to try and crack them open and finding no strength to do so, he listens once again. Maybe there's something to clue him in on what he's missing, solve the puzzle that leaves his brain in shambles where he picks up pieces that refuse to make sense and tear at his mind for as long as he's awake.

Being unconscious certainly does have its perks…

"'zaya...you…?" He strains to listen now, more aware of his body refusing to move when he tries to, a dull sense of pain sharply picking at a side of his brain when he does. He's stiff, shocks of pain jolting through him now that his breaths come at a steadier rate, deeper than he remembers hurting this badly when he wakes up.

Taking several moments to adjust, Izaya steadies himself with what little he can, forcing his body to respond to his commands as he takes control. With his mind as empty as he ever remembers it being, it takes longer to compile himself into a functioning being capable of knowing he's in his own bed by the feel of his silk bedsheets. That, and how the hand in his own is a hand by the grip of longer, thicker fingers than his and no matter how hard he tries to convince himself, only Shizuo can run as hot as he does for a normal body temperature.

His eyes peel themselves open, starting from the bare minimum of cracking open to carefully adjust to the dim light of his bedroom. The black of his sheets is easiest to stare at when he needs a break, a pounding headache blossoming in the fastest time he's recalled, similar to a migraine the way light bends and breaks to sharp pieces that pierce the inflamed matter of his brain.

As soon as he's awake, the sound of a beast's voice breaks the window he thinks he has of gathering a moment to steel himself for what he's about to hear. "'zaya, can you hear me? Are you okay?" The utter amount of concern in Shizuo's voice should surprise him, though it's not much compared to the stabbing pain all around his head and maybe opening his eyes isn't the best idea he's had in a long time.

There's no way to tip the beast off to the kind of pain Izaya feels throughout his entire body—as if he's been hit by a _freight train_ or ten of them at once—aching and pounding and awful enough to want to curl up and never wake up again in a very childish part of his mind that slips through when he can't think all that well. Shizuo must notice, the different volume of his voice a tip off that something _is_ different and Izaya can't remember, can't remember why he's here in the first place…

"It's okay, you don't have to say anything." Shizuo's fingers slip in between Izaya's as if handling something fragile, slipping through the gaps of Izaya's much smaller hand with the ginger feel of trying hard not to break something. Though the thought is laughable at best, worst at being painful to try and laugh, it doesn't deter Izaya from trying to recall why he's here in the first place. "You, ah, you took a pretty bad fall earlier, and Shinra patched you up, said you lost a lot of blood..." Shizuo carefully omits that Izaya's been asleep for two days now, deciding to mention it when the air settles a little better.

Ah, so that explains it.

"Is that why it feels like I've been hit by a semi-truck, Shizu…?" In the middle of trying to be himself, he forgets what he's supposed to say. Probably a side effect from the bandage wrapping around his head, meaning the fall must have been worth more damage than he previously believed it to be. But the issue remains in his head, asking how and when and why he's here and why Shizuo has this strange look of guilt and concern on his face.

Not just because it makes Izaya's stomach turn.

Shizuo perks up when Izaya speaks, giving the gentlest reassuring squeeze in Izaya's hand that barely counts as a brush of fingers over the bones of his hand. "Huh, so you do remember then? At least a little, right? Shinra said you would have some issues with memory loss—you had a fire escape fall on you." At the mention of the flights of steps, Izaya cringes, coming to regret it as soon as he tenses and his muscles burn with static and raw searing licks of inflammatory responses.

Izaya groans to himself, some of it audible to the blond sitting beside him and he hears a disheartened laugh, somehow tugging at something buried in his memories. Relaxing hurts even more with trying to keep himself as still as possible, Shizuo's hand in his and acting like five or six or eight flights of stairs hadn't just fallen on Izaya because—because of the chase earlier, where Shizuo caught him off guard.

That doesn't make any sense—he refuses to believe it the first time around, turning the concept over and over in his head until he has to come to the grudging conclusion that it's _possible_ something similar could've happened. Following the digging stab in his brain, he waits for his memories to come back, somewhat reluctantly as Shizuo sits in contemplative silence and Izaya wants him to hurry up and speak—it's over anyway, he knows it is and—doesn't remember what he's thinking of.

"What brought this on, Izaya?" Shizuo's eyes are on him and he's thinking again, maybe not as fast but the wheels of his mind are spinning too fast and he's got a headache anyway—Shizuo can't tell, but he watches with a strange look in his eyes. Maybe it's disappointment. "You've been acting spaced out for a while, and you haven't talked to me in days. Is it because of something I did?"

There's never been a time where Izaya wishes he could just stop thinking besides falling off a fire escape and even that has its returning moments of blank spaces, slowly filling in cracks. But with this, with the soft look in Shizuo's eyes and the burn of his skin where Shizuo holds him he thinks he'll crack, breaking under pressure from—hiding, waiting to see what happens when—trying to restrain himself from saying too much. Giving away too much information means giving up and even if he's injured enough to feel his heart pulse in his toes, then it doesn't mean he can so simply tell Shizuo what he can't comprehend himself.

(It _scares_ him to think this way.) No, maybe he's over-thinking again and if he is then—

"I don't know," Izaya manages to stumble over his words, a slight slur from the pain lacing into his breath and immediately he regrets it but it's too late. Shizuo's eyes are on him, watching his every move and he's so sure that it means the end he's told himself to expect. Except it doesn't stop with one slip-up as soon as his lips move again on their own, mouth forming words he doesn't want to mean. "You...left. I don't know why but you did."

His eyes are burning. Stop this, stop this stupidity and stop feeling sorry for himself as soon as he feels his shoulders threatening to tremble. "I didn't think you wanted me around anymore. You never tell me if it's okay to hug you or kiss you, and then when it comes to..." Shizuo shakes his head, burying his head in his hands as if he's the confused one and it takes bitter humor to laugh at the oddity of it all. "I don't know anymore, 'zaya, what am I supposed to do when you won't do anything with me? I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to rush you, but what am I gonna do when we're together and you don't tell me anything?"

Then _break up._ End it all while he still can and Izaya's not talking too much anymore. And it's no use to sound upset, no meaning to remembering mornings of waking up with Shizuo's lips on his and arms around him because he's so used to it he doesn't feel right sitting in his bed by himself. Addiction truly is a terrifying thing, which he realizes far too late for his own good.

And addiction leads to consequences like this. "I don't..." Izaya shakes his head, feeling out of body and out of his mind when he shakes and shivers and hurts because he's too exhausted to try and sort out right and wrong anymore. "What I...I don't know, I don't know what to _do._ " It's the best excuse of not quite but unsure on how to get the right words out and then he shivers again, his shoulders trembling like the legs of a newborn fawn and he can't keep himself still no matter how much it hurts, eyes ripping themselves open to bleed with fresh saltwater tears and the taste of defeat.

It's only a matter of time, it's only so long before Shizuo ignores him, laughs and leaves and moves on because that's how it's meant to be when Izaya can't make up his mind for once.

He certainly never expects the arm that pulls him into a gentle hug or the fact he's missed it for too long. By the way his head falls on Shizuo's shoulder and his eyes won't stop making reflexive tears, then perhaps he's far worse for wear than he believes he is. "I don't know," he tries again, sounding weaker with the smaller pitch of his voice that feels so alien when it slips from his lips, trembling down his spine where Shizuo's hand holds him upright. "I can't..."

"It's okay," Shizuo shushes him, arms open wide enough to hold Izaya until the mental breakdown decides to quit trying to happen, forcing either a reaction of sleep or shutting down as means of dealing with any problem like this—last time never worked well when he tried. "Shh, it's okay, we'll figure it out, don't worry about it now." Except the hiccups tear new wounds where Izaya's muscles knit themselves together and protest when Shizuo moves him to a better position, body resting against him and forgetting he's lived through a fallen fire escape and dealing with ugly things called emotions.

When he finally feels something, it's a pair of lips on his forehead, the same ones telling him he should sleep it off before they talk any more—he should ask why, he knows he should, but at the same time with the wrap of one arm around him he doesn't know if he'll risk it for losing a free heated pillow.

"I'm sorry," Shizuo murmurs into his hair, stroking it with a free hand and presses a quick kiss to Izaya's nose. There's probably more he could say, but judging by how quickly Izaya falls asleep, he doubts he'd have the time.

For now, it's easier to make up for lost time.

* * *

 _For nisaki once again, because I'm finally catching up to my trades and this is for a drawing she made for me, which I love very much, so thank you, nii-chan._

 _Thank you for reading._


End file.
